An early appointment with my hairdresser enforces promptness this morning. Archie’s father David, our son-in-law (obviously), will be here tomorrow for the end-of-term festivities. He will fit in a quick visit to his mother in Cheshire. He and I will go to prize-giving at the school on Saturday.

“Dress for parents tends to be smart, with hats optional”, it says in the instructions. “Better you than me”, adds Greek Helen.  I will have to give some thought as to what is to be worn beneath my newly-smartened hair. On top of it I will put the little cloche hat I wore at Theo and Jenni’s wedding, if I can find it. Greek Helen and I were the only two people present that day wearing hats. Things are clearly done differently in CT.

I am less worried about smartness than about the fact that we have to be there by 10:40 if we hope to sit down, and it won’t end until “approximately 1 pm”.  After which, the Pipe Band and refreshments in the marquee. Substantial refreshments, I should hope.

The boys will be wearing their kilts. I’ll take my camera.

Wimbledon

The annual distraction from the fact that daylight is being withdrawn, is with us again. It started with a bang yesterday. I got the fourth skein wound for Relax2 during passages that were too exciting even for garter stitch stripes. Now if only Mr Djokovic would trip over his shoelaces, this could be Andy Murray’s year.

Knitting

I’m ready to lay the West scarf aside. I’ve done 30 rows of the 84-row striped section – but as each row is longer than the last, that doesn’t mean much.

Yesterday’s knitting excitement was unexpected.

Roobeedoo emailed me some time ago to say that she was going to send me a skein of Mind the Gap sock yarn – they are otherwise not to be had for love or money. I was thrilled and, needless to say, very grateful. But it didn’t arrive. For understandable reasons, each of us was hesitant about emailing the other.

Yesterday, she finally plucked up courage, and even as I read her email, I knew where the yarn was.

When we got back from Strathardle last week, I found one of those dread “Something For You” cards from the post office. Assuming it referred to the Pakokku, I arranged on-line for it to be delivered to a local post office. But the next day the Pakokku turned up at the door, with a sticker clearly showing that this was a re-delivery. The GPO has got its wires crossed, I assumed (two assumptions by now, notice).

Yesterday I grasped that the Mind the Gap yarn must be at the local post office – and so it was. I wonder if granddaughter Lizzie would like some socks to remind her of her native London, as she sets out for her academic year in Kansas soon.